


Garland Traditions

by fancywaffles



Series: An Azure Dawn [11]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Family Issues, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Minor Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: Sylvain and Felix get married.(but, like actually married this time)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: An Azure Dawn [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654411
Comments: 24
Kudos: 193





	Garland Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> I was ill and sleep deprived and I wanted my emotional support dumbasses to have some fluff. So. Sorry. There's like no plot to this whatsoever. It ties into the rest of my Sylvix stuff (specifically Barnacle, where they weren't technically married), but I think will be fine without context.

_When the warm winds blow from the from the sea to the south of Adrestia, residents of Fodlan know that the rainy season is upon them. Before the heavy rains take their toll, the young women hurry to pick the last of the white roses. The ivory buds are woven into garlands and given as gifts to close friends or potential lovers._

It was a Tuesday when Sylvain realized that he and Felix weren’t _actually_ married. They were helping Dimitri go through an insane pile of invitations from every Lord and Lady across the entire continent, because it was the Garland Moon and for some reason Sylvain’s birthday was never as big of an event as throwing flowers into a crown and revealing crushes — which also apparently made it wedding season.

Dimitri was hemming and hawing over two invitations of which he couldn’t possibly go to one without offending the other and Felix got up from where he was comfortably leaning on Sylvain, took the invites out of Dimitri’s hands without a word and wrote a ‘no’ in the response section on both.

Sylvain couldn’t even hear Dimitri’s paltry protest that Felix would inevitably talk him out of, because he was staring at Felix and wondering why the hell there was a pile of wedding invites but not one for _their_ wedding.

The practical thing to do would have been to discuss it like an adult who was in a committed relationship, but that sounded boring so Sylvain spent the rest of the day thinking of the most ostentatious way he could propose that would irritate and secretly delight Felix.

That didn’t happen.

It was a Friday evening when Sylvain proposed. There was a cool breeze offsetting the warmth from a particularly strong summer and Sylvain was sitting in the grass, staring out at the courtyard and hedge maze where giggling girls and boys set laced garlands on each other’s heads, flushed and nervous from the implication and then immediately besotted. He spied one or two disappointments, but for the most part everyone seemed to be getting what they wanted.

He was smiling at that, feeling pretty relaxed when Felix dropped something soft onto his head. It wasn’t heavy and when Sylvain reached up to touch it, he realized it was a garland. Felix, in typical Felix fashion didn’t say anything, but smiled and sat down in the grass next to him. Felix was flushed from exertion and his hair had mostly come undone, so he must’ve been in the training yards, but at some point he’d —

“Did you steal this or make it?” Sylvain asked.

Felix shrugged. “Does it matter?”

That, of course, meant he made it. The warmth that gripped Sylvain in the chest was overwhelming and the words, “We should get married,” fell out of his mouth.

Felix blinked at him and tilted his head, like he was waiting for the joke, which bothered Sylvain more than he could really articulate and he could articulate a _lot_.

“Actually married,” he said, and took Felix’s hand. “The ring isn’t done yet, because I was thinking of doing it during the tourney. Hadn’t quite landed on before or after you probably win.”

“Probably?” Felix said, but he was more flushed than he was when he sat down.

Sylvain grinned at him and couldn’t kneel since they were both sitting, but turned completely toward Felix and gallantly kissed his hand. “Will you marry me?”

Felix’s face was soft and the look he gave Sylvain was so incredibly fond it didn’t match his words in the slightest. “Of course, you idiot.”

* * *

Sylvain was incandescently happy for the next few weeks. Even the trouble of logistics didn’t bother him (the amount of planning involved was… not something he would’ve expected, but getting out of participating in these kinds of things had been his life’s work), because he was going to marry Felix so the finer details didn’t really matter.

It was a Sunday when his father fucking ruined it.

Sylvain hadn’t expected the conversation to go _well_. There was always something new that he wasn’t doing correctly in his approach to being the Gautier heir, mostly because he refused to knock anyone up. He knew that the Margrave wasn’t going to appreciate the confirmation that an heir wasn’t happening, but he thought that after all this time, after sharing meals with Felix and knowing him since they were _children_ , he’d have some sort of normal and human fatherly reaction to Sylvain getting married to the man he loved.

So, of course, he’d been the absolute fucking worst.

Of things Sylvain expected, the Margrave refusing to go to the wedding, the upset, the yelling; the coldness and disappointment that he got was somehow worse. He’d even tossed the invite into the fire. At least Sylvain knew where he got his tendency for the dramatics from. He hoped that and his stupid crest were all he inherited.

No hope of his mother attending either, considering her silence and lack of eye contact during the entire fiasco. Sylvain had a complicated relationship with his father that had never quite been solid, but it hadn’t been so brittle it snapped like this before. Sylvain was pretty certain he was never going to forgive him, but also certain that his father would never even deign to think about asking for it.

On his return from Gautier, Sylvain ran into Ingrid first. Her entire face lit up like the sun as she beamed at him and ran up, throwing her arms around his neck. “Congratulations!”

There was a tight feeling in Sylvain’s throat, like disappointment, but he was also grateful. _This_ was how a person should react to good news. He hugged Ingrid back, tight enough that she let out a little ‘oof’ noise and when he released her, he answered her questioning look with a kiss to the forehead. “Thank you,” he said.

“Are you all right?” Ingrid asked, all concern now. She had more concern for him than his actual mother.

Sylvain sighed. “Dropped the invite off with the Margrave and Margravine.”

Ingrid frowned deeply and shook her head. “I’m sorry. He should’ve come around by now. Especially _now_ ,” she added. Ingrid reached out and touched his cheek with the heedless affection of years of friendship and gave him a completely serious look, as words he never would have expected left her mouth. “Fuck him,” Ingrid said.

Ingrid swearing was even rarer than Dimitri and the pure _delight_ that shot through Sylvain’s entire system had him practically giggling as he picked her up and spun her around, ignoring her half-hearted laughing protest. “Sylvain, put me down!”

Sylvain finally did and was still laughing, feeling the weight bearing down on his shoulders the entire ride back disappear. “No one is going to believe you said that,” he wheezed a laugh that felt a little strained around the edges.

Ingrid shrugged and crossed her arms under her chest. “He’s being foolish and he’ll regret it. You’re _happy_ and that should be all that matters.”

Instinctually, Sylvain shrugged his shoulders. He slipped his hands into his back pockets. “It’s all he knows. He’s…”

He was about to defend him again, to say it wasn’t as bad as it seemed with the usual slew of excuses, but the words refused to form. Hadn’t Ingrid’s father had the same outlook on crests and heirs, but came around easily when he saw how happy she was with Dorothea? When presented with the future they were trying to carve, Count Galatea had gone for it instead of…

“I think I actually thought for a second he’d be happy for me, but he would rather see me miserable and useless, but married to someone who would provide another crest bearing heir, than … a moderately productive adult marrying the love of his life.”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid said, stepping towards him a little so she could get in his eye line, that had dropped towards the floor during his melodrama. “You’re a bit more than moderately productive.”

“You’re just saying that, because it’s such a huge difference from all the reasons you yelled at me in school.”

Ingrid didn’t laugh, her mouth twisted a little. “No. I’m telling you that, because your father is too stupid to do it himself.”

He really, truly loved Ingrid sometimes. Sylvain stared at her. “Will you be my first witness?”

She looked surprised, eyebrows lifting far above her normal position. “Are you teasing me?”

“No,” Sylvain said.

“Shouldn’t you be asking Dimitri?” Ingrid looked tentative. He couldn’t believe her.

Sylvain waved his hand. “He can be Felix’s, or we’ll make him officiate… wait actually that last one sounds perfect.” Dimitri would stumble over all his words and make everything normal and awkward, it would be great. Not to mention it was harder to get more official than having the King of United Fódlan marry you.

“Ingrid, come on,” Sylvain said. “Of course it’s you.”

He’d made her blush, which he hadn’t been able to do in _ages_ and it was so incredibly satisfying that he couldn’t help but grin. She bit her lip and then said primly, “Yes, obviously I’d be happy to.”

He picked her up again and spun her around. Ingrid protested, but still laughed.

* * *

The next day went fairly easily, Sylvain spent most of the wedding prep watching Annette and Mercedes bully Felix into being more festive with the food and decorations.

“Are fireworks too elaborate?” Sylvain asked, because fanning the flames was way too fun.

Annette looked delighted at the idea and Felix reached for one of the cake tasting forks like he was going to stab him. Mercedes saved whatever extremity Felix was going for by offering up cake that she insisted Felix would like. Sylvain watched with endless amusement as Felix was mother-henned into eating some.

“This one’s fine,” Felix said, taking another bite of it, which meant it probably tasted boring and vegetabley in nature. “I don’t have to eat any, you can pick what you want.”

“You _have_ to eat cake at your wedding,” Annette said, with all the authority of someone who hadn’t had one yet.

“Says who?” Felix asked, and amazingly took a third bite of the cake, which was making Mercedes look like her smile was going to leap off her face if it got any bigger.

Sylvain leaned towards Felix. “Let me taste that one.” Felix distractedly held the plate out towards him and Sylvain pushed it aside to kiss him instead,probably a little more scandalously for company than was appropriate, but he really couldn’t taste the flavor of the cake without working his way into Felix’s mouth.

“Not bad,” Sylvain said, smiling way too hard at how red Felix’s face was. He flopped back into his seat, this time close enough to throw an arm around Felix (and honestly close enough to get stabbed before Mercedes could intervene, but what was life without risk).

“It’s a new recipe,” Mercedes said. “I kind of adapted it from one of the ones Dedue likes making.”

“It tastes better with frosting,” Annette said, also a little red around the ears, but, like Ingrid she looked happy for them, like an actual human being would—

“I asked Ingrid to be my first witness,” Sylvain said to Felix who was putting the cake aside out of protest.

He turned towards Sylvain, brow furrowed. “All right. Is that something I was supposed to be doing?”

“ _Felix_!” Annette said, exasperated. “You haven’t picked out a witness yet? That’s one of the most important things!”

Felix sighed. “Fine, you do it.”

Sylvain could tell that Felix really hadn’t meant to fluster and offend Annette, but wow the choked noise she made at the casual way he threw that at her was better tasting than the cake. “That’s not how you ask someone! It’s a really important thing.”

“Why?” Felix shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “You’ll all be there witnessing it anyway.”

Sylvain laughed at Annette’s strangled protest and then leaned his head towards Felix. “It’s like having a second in a duel.”

Felix seemed to process that, then frowned at Sylvain. “Well then it's not fair you get Ingrid.”

“Too bad, I asked her first,” Sylvain said and then, slightly worried, added, “there’s not an actual duel.”

“Yes, I got that,” Felix said with a snort, he leaned back against Sylvain’s arm that was slung over his chair. “So you don’t want to do it?” he asked Annette.

Annette threw her hands in the air and then stomped one foot. “Felix, it’s a big deal. You should think about it and then ask, no one in their right mind is going to feel appreciated if you ask it like you’re asking someone to… to go sparring with you!”

“I can understand things that aren’t fighting metaphors,” Felix said, dryly. “I don’t want to do it if it’s going to be a big deal.”

“It’s tradition!” Annette protested.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Ashe’s voice said, coming from the other direction. “We heard there was cake?” He smiled nervously. The we behind him was the Professor and, of course Ingrid. Food somewhere in the vicinity and they’d sniff it out.

“What’s Felix done now?” Ingrid asked, striding in and taking a look over at the cake table.

“He’s being _unreasonable_ ,” Annette said.

“Hey Ingrid,” Sylvain asked. “ _Would_ you fight the other witness if it was a duel?”

Ingrid rolled her eyes at him and picked up one of the pieces of lighter cakes, covered in a syrup that Sylvain had really wanted to try and didn’t answer his question.

“Byleth,” Felix said, to the Professor, who was with Ashe scanning over the rest of the cakes and midway to reaching for one. “You and Dimitri didn’t have witnesses.”

Byleth made a face and in her distraction lost the piece of cake she was going for to Ashe who had snagged it. She frowned at him and picked up another. “We had a lot more hoops to jump through. Picking the wrong person could have caused a diplomatic incident.”

Sylvain snorted at the understatement. “Felix, I don’t think comparing our very small ceremony we’re putting together in less than a month, with the eternity long-planning of the marriage between the King and the Archbishop is a good idea.”

Felix looked irritated. “I’m just saying…”

“You haven’t picked anyone yet?” Ashe asked, sounding surprised.

“See!” Annette said, happy someone agreed with her. Mercedes merely hummed and kept organizing the plates, but Sylvain was pretty sure she was finding this as funny as he was.

Felix let out a drawn, annoyed breath and said, “Fine. Byleth, do you want to do it?”

Annette let out a small protesting squeak, but it was drowned out by the Professor shrugging and saying, “Sure.”

Sylvain had to lean his head back and cover his face to keep from laughing at the shade Annette’s face turned.

“You’re not even going to ask Dimitri?” Annette asked.

Felix held both hands out in utter bewilderment. “He’s not even here?”

Sylvain lost it and could not stop the laughter bubbling up his throat and out his mouth. He curled in on himself choking with it, laughing even louder when he heard Ashe and Ingrid joining in.

When Sylvain finally regained his breath, wheezing a little and wiping the mirth tears that had collected by his eyes, he could see Felix looked annoyed and uncomfortable. He tried, admirably, to not choke out more than a couple more chuckles before saying, “I thought we could ask him to officiate.”

“He’d like that,” the Professor said, through a mouthful of cake.

Mercedes looked confused. “Why wouldn’t you ask the Archbishop to officiate and Dimitri to be your first witness?”

“What version of this do I have to agree to that will get everyone to shut up?” Felix asked.

“Why are you even _doing_ this if you’re going to be like this?” Annette asked.

“Because I want to get married with my friends there,” Felix said, simply. “I don’t care about the other stupid shit. We’re doing that for you.”

“A little for me too,” Sylvain said, trying to offset the fact that Annette looked like she was about to cry. Sylvain couldn’t tell what exactly the emotion was, she could’ve been really touched by what Felix said or really upset.

She surprised him, however, instead of crying she lifted her chin up in a determined way. “That’s not how it works. Mercie,” she said to Mercedes who looked up from where she was asking Ingrid about one of the cakes she’d inhaled. “We’ve got to go back to square one.”

Mercedes blinked and then straightened up and made an imitation of a salute. “Ay ay, Captain Annie.”

Considering how close he was to the forks, Sylvain probably shouldn’t have broken into a fit of laughter again when Felix put his head in his hands muttering, “For fuck’s sake.”

* * *

“I think this is the best possible outcome, honestly,” Sylvain said to Felix later as they were getting ready for bed. “We don’t have to do anything and the wedding shows up. You should be thrilled.”

Felix levied an irritated look in his direction. “I don’t want whatever version of a wedding Annette and Mercedes think we want.”

“They might nail it?” Sylvain said, unable to keep the slight question out of his voice. “Well, either way, who cares?” He hopped onto the bed, landing on his knees and tugged Felix away from where he was unlacing one of the cuffs on his wrists into a backwards embrace. “Let’s talk about the honeymoon.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Felix said, with very little heat to it, leaning into the hold. “Have you come up with any plans beyond not leaving the room for two weeks?”

“I said one week, but if you’d like to set your ambitions that high, I am very happy to follow in your footsteps.”

Felix shook his head, his hair brushing up against Sylvain’s chest from this angle. “You’re ridiculous,” he repeated.

Sylvain leaned forward a little, resting his chin on Felix’s shoulder even if it put his back at an awkward angle. It let him make eye contact with Felix before he kissed the side of his jaw, so it was worth it. “What about that … mountain pass up north, where we used to go as kids.”

“That sounds nice,” Felix said, closing his eyes and leaning back even more so Sylvain was forced to shift his knees to the side and practically pull him onto his lap, which was much more comfortable and convenient.

“Good, because you guys would never let me talk you into skinny dipping and I will demand it for my marital rights.”

Felix snorted a laugh and then opened his eyes to give Sylvain a wry look. “None of us knew how to swim and I’m pretty sure if our fathers caught us naked in freezing waters with the crown prince and Ingrid, they’d kill us.”

Amazing how Felix had the dead father and yet he wasn’t the one who immediately felt sick being reminded of his existence. Sylvain couldn’t get away with pretending he hadn’t stiffened up and frowned, because Felix knew him too well for a fake smile and was already turning out of his arms to face him. “What’s wrong?”

Sylvain flopped his butt backwards onto the bed and leaned on his elbows, staring up at the ceiling. “The Margrave isn’t coming to the wedding.”

“Oh,” Felix said. It was impossible to know what he meant by that one word, but then he leaned over Sylvain and stroked a hand through his hair. “I could disinvite my uncle.”

“No!” Sylvain said. “Then Teiran wouldn’t come, I _love_ your cousin, she’s like a meaner you.”

“She’s not coming anyway,” Felix said, still stroking his hair, and notably not making eye contact. “She’s in Adrestria bargaining for new shipping routes.”

Sylvain tried to turn his disappointment into a scoffed sigh and not let it mingle with the rest of the feelings he didn’t want to cloud the happy bubble he was trying to live in. “Don’t disinvite Andreas. It’s _nice_ he wants to come.”

Felix flicked his eyes up to meet Sylvain’s and looked guilty of all things. He leaned in to kiss Sylvain softly, barely making contact and then buried his head in Sylvain’s neck.

“Don’t apologize,” Sylvain said, because he was fairly certain the word muttered into his collarbone was ‘sorry’. “It’s got nothing to do with you. He’s just…” So many words came to mind, none of them felt right. “Ingrid said the f-word.”

Felix lifted his head up at that and looked incredibly skeptical, but at least not guilty anymore. “No, she didn’t.”

“She did!” Sylvain said, still delighted by the thought. “She said, and this is an exact quote, ‘fuck him’ — about my _father_.”

“There’s no way that happened.”

“You have to believe me, I’m your betrothed,” Sylvain said very seriously.

Felix barely covered up the snort he pressed into Sylvain’s chest. He was smiling when he looked up again. “Are you planning on slipping, ‘believe every stupid thing Sylvain says’ into the vows?”

“I am now,” Sylvain said. “I could get away with it too. Dimitri likes me more than you. Or he will when I tell him he was your _third_ choice.”

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t have asked Ingrid before him?” Felix said, the hint of a smile still playing around his lips.

Sylvain laughed. “I think you would’ve asked the cake tin if it would’ve gotten Annette to stop pestering you.”

“She means well,” Felix said, though his smile had slipped back into a characteristic frown. “I don’t get it. Everyone we invited was someone we wanted to witness it, why does it matter who’s standing up?”

“It matters,” Sylvain said. It mattered who showed up. He sighed and dropped his elbows, going completely prone on the bed. “You really wouldn’t have asked Dimitri?”

“He’d get too emotional about it,” Felix said.

“Yes,” Sylvain agreed, dryly, chuckling to himself. “Wouldn’t want to get emotional about a wedding.”

Felix rested the upper half of his body over Sylvain’s stomach, pressing his elbow into Sylvain’s ribs in a way that used to be uncomfortable, but now he’d gotten used to it. “You can be emotional if you want.”

“So romantic,” Sylvain said, loudly, “please… Felix, don’t sweep me off my feet when I’m already down.”

Felix’s long suffering sigh set something off and Sylvain really didn’t know how to stop, so he lifted himself up to sitting, and quickly moved so he was holding Felix down against the bed. “Please, Felix. I cannot take this unrestrained passion from you. It’s too much.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Felix said, giving a paltry attempt at trying to shove him off, but Sylvain kept his arms pinned together.

“The sweet things that fall from your lips even now!” Sylvain said. “How are we going to pull this off without you making an emotional scene? They’ll be scandalized, Felix, scandalized.”

“Are you done yet?” Felix asked staring up at him with a mixture of annoyance and a tiny hint of amusement.

“Never,” Sylvain said and leaned down to kiss him. “You are gonna be stuck with me, remember?”

“Hmm,” was Felix’s response, but the second his hands were free he pulled Sylvain closer. Happy Felix underneath him wasn’t usually something he’d interrupt, but the long fingers threading through Sylvain’s hair reminded him and he pulled back suddenly, mentally saving the disgruntled protesting noise Felix made for later.

“I almost forgot!” Sylvain said, off the bed and digging around the small pile of packages that were either wedding presents or somehow related to the festivities that he probably should have gone through already. He grabbed the box from where it was stashed and hopped back onto the bed, landing on his knees again, grinning.

Felix looked annoyed. “Did you order another weird sex tool, because I already told you after last time I’m not—”

“No,” Sylvain grunted. “Stop ruining the romance, for fuck’s sake, Felix.” He held his hand out. “Give me your hand.”

Felix narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but reached forward… with the wrong hand. Sylvain sighed and grabbed Felix’s other hand, before slipping the ring out of the box and onto his finger. “Good, doesn’t need adjusting.”

“Aren’t you supposed to put that on _at_ the wedding?” Felix asked, but he hadn’t pulled his hand back and he was staring at it.

“I wanted to make sure it fit,” Sylvain said, “Besides, originally this was going to be an engagement ring, so no, you should have had it sooner.”

Felix flicked his eyes up at him. “You actually had a ring?”

“You wound me, you know that,” Sylvain said.

“I thought you were exaggerating,” Felix said, mostly to himself. He’d pulled his hand back and was looking at it with what to anyone else might have seemed a critical eye. “… this is wootz steel.”

“Well yeah,” Sylvain said. “I wanted something durable, but I figured if I wasted mythril on a ring you’d kill me.” He pulled the other thing out of the box, a long woven leather necklace. “You can get something else, but I figured since you fight barehanded so often, _so often_ , baby, that you could wear it around your neck and since it’s wootz it won’t get scuffed up or whatever.”

Felix wasn’t saying anything or meeting his eyes. Fuck. Sylvain thought this would be a nice gesture. He’d really thought it out, but maybe he should’ve waited and asked Felix what he wanted, or gotten him something prettier —which he would have _liked_ to have done, but he thought…

Felix sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Did I make you _cry_?” Sylvain asked because he had no control of his mouth ever.

Felix flipped him off with his un-ringed hand and pressed his face into the mattress. Sylvain laughed, it escaped his chest like it was air. He hadn’t seen Felix happy cry since they were kids… well maybe once after a particular nasty battle, but Sylvain had been half-dead at the time and Felix had outright denied it and not talked to him for a week.

Sylvain stroked his fingers over the back of Felix’s face, tracing around his ear. “I do actually need that back, since we’re exchanging them at the actual ceremony.”

“You’ll get this off my finger when you cut it off,” Felix said, muffled into the mattress.

Sylvain felt happiness radiating from every angle of his body and tugged Felix until he hid his face in Sylvain’s chest instead of the mattress. “It’s _tradition_ ,” he said in best Annette impression, which was helped by the overwhelming cheer he was feeling.

Felix flipped him off again.

* * *

It was a Friday when Sylvain realized he _hated_ traditions. “You cannot be serious,” Sylvain said. “I can’t… get blue balled the night before a wedding _and_ not have a stag’s night!”

“Don’t say blue balled in front of Annette,” Felix told him, while they walked, completely ignoring his pain. “It’s not like we haven’t slept apart before.”

“Only when there was literal miles between us,” Sylvain said. “Not because of tradition. Also how dare she… how dare _they,_ this is my wedding too! Where are the concessions for _me_.”

Felix ignored him and kept walking to where they were meeting their friends.

“We should be doing tonight separate and the rest of it together,” Sylvain said. “How can you have a stag night with both stags?”

Felix shrugged. “We share all the same friends. What do you want to do, split them up and pick teams?”

Sylvain stopped walking and considered that idea. Felix was a few paces ahead when he noticed that Sylvain had stopped. He turned around and then his face fell. “Sylvain, _no_. I was joking.”

“I’ll let you have first pick,” Sylvain offered.

Felix’s face was strained. “Can’t we have dinner and not do something stupid?”

“You can not do something stupid if we split up,” Sylvain countered. He couldn’t quite catch what the grumbling Felix was muttering to himself as he started walking again was, but he figured it was a good sign.

“This is strange,” Ingrid said, when they’d explained the idea (well Sylvain had explained the idea, Felix had given him a withering glare the entire time, but hadn’t objected so that was as good as participating).

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Sylvain countered. “And you,” he said, pointing at Dimitri, who’d been giving him frowny king face through the entire explanation, “you should be supportive! I threw your stag party together myself.”

“And I _repeatedly_ begged you not to,” Dimitri said.

“It _is_ … more traditional to do it separate,” Annette said.

“Thank you!” Sylvain said. He elbowed Felix who was staring out into the distance, probably picturing the training practice he could be doing at the moment instead of being here.

Felix blinked and looked at him. “What?”

“I said you could pick first.”

Felix let an annoyed scoff out and gestured to literally the first person he saw when he looked in their friends’ direction. “Ashe.”

“Oh!” Ashe was over the garland moon about being picked, even though clearly Felix hadn’t given a shit when he’d done it. He moved towards where Felix was standing, still looking bored. “I don’t usually get picked first for these types of things. Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been involved with _this_ type of thing I guess.”

Sylvain scanned their friends over, trying to decide who would possibly be the least wet blanket about this entire thing and might _actually_ have a fun idea. Then he realized none of them would and said, “Dimitri.”

Dimitri still looked bewildered by the entire thing and walked towards Sylvain. “I feel like we’re about to break into practice bouts.”

“That might be what Felix’s team ends up doing,” Sylvain said.

It had apparently been the wrong thing to say, because Felix suddenly looked a little more on board with the idea and said, “Byleth.”

The Professor just seemed happy to be out and walked over to Felix’s side without a word.

“Oh good idea,” Sylvain said, even though he knew that wasn’t what had motivated Felix’s sudden decision, “we should split up the couples. This isn’t about romance, people.”

“Is it still too late to say I have royal duties to attend to?” Dimitri asked.

Sylvain ignored him and pointed to, “Dorothea, come join the fun party!”

“Hey!” Ingrid protested.

Dorothea laughed, kissed Ingrid’s cheek and sauntered towards Sylvain and Dimitri.

“Ingrid, I love you,” Sylvain said, “but I cannot have you _and_ Dimitri, on this, the last night of my debauchery. It’s too many wet blankets.”

“Repeatedly begged not to,” Dimitri reminded him.

Sylvain waved him off, trying to avoid the daggers Ingrid was throwing at him with her eyes. “We’re uneven,” Felix said, as it was down to Annette, hoping from foot to foot, Mercedes, blissfully cheerful in the face of chaos, and Dedue who had the most potential of actually being fun tonight.

“Okay,” Sylvain said, “I’ll give you last pick too.”

Felix muttered something under his breath. “Annette, I guess.”

“Oh joy,” Annette said. “I feel _really_ wanted right now.”

“Can we go eat now?” Felix asked, testily, as his group came together. It was a sad bunch of innocent prudes and well whatever the Professor was. Not that Sylvain’s crowd proved to be much more entertaining.

“I suppose I’m planning this myself,” Sylvain said, rubbing the back of his neck as he eyed his own group. “Unless you’ve got any ideas?” he asked Dorothea.

She shook her head. “‘fraid not. I’m not sure any suggestion I have would be up… well down to your standards.”

Sylvain sighed loudly. “Let’s go to a bar then. We’ll figure it out.”

The evening was calm, uneventful, and uninteresting. Sylvain spent most of it bored and nursing an ale. He couldn’t even work up the energy to pretend to flirt with the barmaid. Didn’t he have one friend who would pull out stops for him to make life interesting? Why was he always the fun friend? Where was _his_ fun friend?

“Hm,” Dorothea said, next to him, over the rim of her wine glass. “That’s interesting.”

“What’s in—” Sylvain realized what she was talking about when he followed her vision. Dedue and Mercedes were talking to each other, heads close together and there was definite giggling. Dedue was so distracted he hadn’t noticed that Dimitri had finished off the entire round of drinks and was now opening and closing his good eye, trying to look through his mug.

“That _is_ interesting,” Sylvain said, smiling from ear to ear. He spent the rest of the night with Dorothea, causing incidents that made it so Dedue and Mercedes had to sit next to each other, or making sure neither of them had to get up to get more drinks.

Unfortunately that had distracted both Dorothea and Sylvain, so Dimitri had finished off another round by himself and they were stuck with a very drunken King of United Fódlan. They managed to notice before he got completely on top of the table to proclaim the beauty of his beloved, but not before he’d crooned out a few off-key verses of a hymn that he felt reminded him of her.

It took Sylvain and Dedue’s full effort to herd him back towards the castle.

“He’s going to have a terrible hangover,” Mercedes said, sympathetically.

“I should’ve been paying attention,” Dedue harangued himself.

“He should’ve realized just because he can’t taste the alcohol doesn’t mean it doesn’t shoot through his system,” Sylvain snapped, irritably. What a night. The only concession for the night was that Felix had to have had an even worse time. He’d probably spent the evening being force fed sweets and being bullied into having his hair braided by the girls.

It was justice was what it was.

Or it would’ve been, if after getting Dimitri settled and heading back down, they hadn’t met them all coming back to the castle looking like they’d been in a fight. Felix was definitely drunk, shaky on his feet, completely flushed from his neck up, Annette helping him walk straight. And all Sylvain could see of Ingrid was her ass, as she was slung over the Professor’s shoulder, singing a sea shanty… a dirty one… that Sylvain didn’t even know she knew.

“Ingrid!” Dorothea sounded scandalized and partially delighted as she ran over to them. “What happened?”

“Bar fight,” Annette said, as the Professor grunted and helped Ingrid down to the ground, rolling her shoulder afterwards.

“Bar fight?” Sylvain gawked at them. “What?”

“Drinking contest first,” Annette said and then giggled, when Felix laughed, loud, open and _definitely_ inebriated. “It was going well, but then they accused us of cheating and…” she shrugged.

“So we challenged them to a fight-fight contest!” Ingrid said, slurring her words together.

Dorothea hovered over her but also looked like she was fighting the urge to break out into laughter herself.She pressed a hand to Ingrid’s head, where a bruise was forming on her cheekbone up to through forehead. “Did you at least win, my darling?”

“Of course I did!” Ingrid held up her fist as if that were proof.

“Are you kidding me?” Sylvain threw his hands up in the air. “ _You_ had the fun group?”

“Yep,” Felix said and then started laughing again. It felt directed at Sylvain.

“Where’s Ashe?” Dedue asked, glancing around at them.

“Oh he met someone,” Annette said. “After he backed up Felix when the barkeep’s cousin came back around to try and sucker punch him. It was pretty great!”

“Ashe has good form,” Felix said, nodding to himself, as if that was a serious consideration as to the estimation of Ashe as a person.

“Where’s Dimitri?” the Professor asked, still rolling her shoulder, a drunk Ingrid could not have been fun to carry, even if it sounded way more fun than drunk Dimitri to witness.

“Uhh,” Sylvain said. “He might have had a little too much to drink, but he’s sleeping it off.”

“How much is a little too much?” the Professor asked, looking concerned.

Mercedes let out a nervous tittering giggle. “You might want to make sure he doesn’t issue any new proclamations about how lovely you look in the morning.”

Color drained from the Professor’s face and she skipped past them, but not before giving Sylvain a glare that would flatten a lesser man.

He ignored the chill that ran through him.“Sheesh, you could’ve made her take a drink or two to loosen up.”

“Who do you think won the drinking contest?” Annette said, with a giggle.

“Felix, are you all right?” Mercedes asked, barely holding back her own amusement.

Felix nodded and then shook his head. “Ingrid stepped in front of me, like I needed help!”

“You can’t have a black eye on your wedding day!” Ingrid said, still on the ground, now partially in Dorothea’s lap who was stroking her hair with an amused and fond expression.

“I wouldn’t have let him hit me in the face,” Felix said.

Sylvain could not remember the last time Felix had been this drunk. Actually, he couldn’t _ever_ remember a time Felix had been this drunk. He was open and smiling and laughing and… okay maybe the night was salvageable.

“I’ll take that,” Sylvain said, coming towards Annette, to snag Felix from her grip.

She held her hand up, threateningly preventing him from moving forward. “No! You can’t spend the night before your wedding together, it’s bad luck!”

“Who says?”

“Tradition!” Annette replied.

“That is tradition,” Ingrid agreed, still on the floor.

Sylvain rubbed his knuckles into his forehead. “This is… the worst night of my entire life.”

“I highly doubt that,” Dedue said.

Sylvain had to give him that, but he didn’t want to, so he shot him a stink eye. “You know what I mean.”

“Annie and I will take care of him,” Mercedes promised Sylvain, with a reassuring hand on his arm. “Even if it’s not for superstition, think about how nice it’ll be when you surprise each other tomorrow.”

“I don’t think there’s much to be surprised about at this point,” Sylvain said.

“You never know,” Mercedes said, before saying her goodnights to everyone and helping Annette with Felix.

“Do you require assistance?” Dedue asked Dorothea who was still on the floor with Ingrid.

“… I think yes,” she said.

“I got it,” Sylvain said, patting Dedue on the arm. He hoisted Ingrid up into ironically a bridal carry. She protested some but then started snoring soon afterwards, drooling against his chest. “A beauty and a grace,” Sylvain said, as he helped carry her back to the room she and Dorothea were staying in.

“Oh, she is going to have such a headache in the morning,” Dorothea said, sympathetically as Sylvain deposited her on the bed.

“Luckily she married a healer,” he said and gave Dorothea a kiss on the cheek before he left them. Surprising him, Dedue was still outside.

“I’m sorry your party did not live up to your expectations,” Dedue said.

Sylvain inwardly cringed. Dedue was always like this, making him feel bad about even feeling bad by being so nice. “It’s fine,” he said. “Although I am a little upset to miss Ashe in a bar fight.” He had seen Ingrid and Felix in one or two before, but Ashe would’ve been new.

“That does sound… active,” Dedue said.

Sylvain snorted and stretched his arms out over his head, he looked at Dedue sideways. “So how long have you and Mercedes been a thing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dedue answered, far too quickly. “She’s been visiting Duscur recently, we have many children that were displaced during the war and she has valuable experience in helping them find new homes.”

“Right,” Sylvain said. “So you don’t want me to adjust the seating arrangement tomorrow so you’re sitting next to her?”

There was silence and then, “I didn’t say that.”

Sylvain laughed and slapped Dedue’s arm. “Done.”

* * *

It was a Saturday when they actually got married. Sylvain would never admit it, but the girls had been right about staying apart for a night. He and Felix had decided not to dress like they were going to a stuffy royal affair, but in Sylvain’s words ‘class it up a bit’ and apparently that meant that Felix was wearing deep burgundy linen, with no hard leather or armored pieces, all softness, paired with _whatever_ he had done to his hair—it looked like it was down, cascaded on his shoulders, but still somehow up, flowers weaving into a braid instead of an actual garland, like Sylvain was wearing.

He had to remember how to breathe.

“What?” Felix asked, once they were both up front and Dimitri was fumbling with notes that he’d dropped and Ingrid and the Professor were trying to help him pick up. Felix’s face was slightly flushed this close and Sylvain just barely resisted the urge to kiss him, since they were supposed to wait.

“How many knives do you have on you?” Sylvain asked, smiling so hard it hurt.

Felix snorted, and tapped the side of his leg. “One.”

“A true romantic,” Sylvain said, but it didn’t feel sarcastic.

Felix’s eyes were soft and so were his hands in Sylvain’s own, complete with the ring he only took off once they actually were supposed to exchange them. Sylvain wasn’t even really sure what Dimitri had said, though he was sure it was heartfelt and moved the tiny crowd of people they called friends and family. He’d pledged himself to Felix before he’d even known what it had meant, but now it wasn’t the war and dying together, it was peace and living. There’d been such a long time where the idea of that hadn’t seemed possible.

He’d probably been expected to drag Felix into a big dramatic kiss once they were actually supposed to, but Sylvain wanted this moment to last so he slid one hand through Felix’s hair and put his forehead to Felix’s, listening to the slight hitch of breath, as he figured out what Sylvain was doing. He brushed his nose against Felix’s own and then kissed him, chaste and appropriate — and then Felix dragged him closer by his collar and chaste and appropriate went out the window as Sylvain grasped Felix’s hips and tried to keep up with him.

Suggestions of finding alcoves before the reception had been ignored, which Sylvain thought was unfair since Felix had started it, but Felix also consented to being practically in his lap as Sylvain ate the cake he hadn’t finished, so he figured it was their first marital compromise.

“I could get used to this public affection,” Sylvain hummed, sliding his free hand down Felix’s side.

“You won’t,” Felix said, glancing back at him.

“You can’t even glare at me today,” Sylvain said, wondering and never happier as Felix flushed, shrugged and turned away from him, still pretty much in his lap.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to annoy me enough,” Felix said, but it had absolutely no bite to it and his hand pressed against the one Sylvain was sliding up his ribcage.

A joke about ‘rising to the challenge’ was on the tip of his tongue, but then the music started. It took far less cajoling than he thought to get Felix to dance with him, which considering he had actual dancers training he should’ve been more keen to show it off, but they didn’t end up even doing any of it right, because Felix wouldn’t pull back and Sylvain refused to let go of his hand.

With that kind of lack of showing, Sylvain didn’t expect to be so woefully ignored in dance requests, while Felix was overwhelmed by them, but that was what happened. Sylvain picked his unfinished piece of cake up and propped his leg up on his chair, watching Annette laugh as Felix critiqued her lack of form. He also noted that Mercedes and Dedue were dancing and waggled his eyebrows at Dedue when the dancing man made eye contact.

That was the end of that eye contact. There weren’t an overwhelming amount of guests, which was fine by Sylvain, but after the third person (Ingrid, the traitor) was pressuring Felix into a dance, Sylvain figured he could make a few rounds by himself to greet them.

Bernadetta, who he was amazed came, managed a few squeaking congratulatory comments and then went back to hiding by the dessert tray until she noticed Flayn and Ignatz, who tried to greet her and then quickly escaped to a less crowded area. Sylvain wanted to ask if she’d finished her book when he caught sight of Felix’s uncle, so he let Countess Varley be.

“Glad you could make it,” Sylvain said.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Andreas Fraldarius said, and seemed like he was about to say something else, but then frowned and said instead, “Your parents were busy, I take it.”

“Something like that,” Sylvain said, shrugging and squinting up towards the ceiling where someone had lit candles in a crescent moon shape — probably one of the girls. It was pretty but not really a detail anyone would notice unless they were looking up. He glanced back down at Felix’s last living family. “You’re not disappointed we’re ending the Fraldarius line?”

Felix’s uncle gave Sylvain one of those weirdly assessing looks that seemed to be genetic, although his eyes weren’t as sharp as Felix’s or Glenn’s were. “We’ll figure that out if it comes to it.”

“Still have Teiran, I guess,” Sylvain said. The line of succession in the Gautier line had been thinned out so badly, Sylvain wasn’t even sure if there was a third-cousin knocking about that would’ve soothed the Margrave’s ego. Definitely not one with a crest.

“Yes…” Andreas said and then looked at his wine glass and took a fairly large swig. “Suppose that’s possible.” He shook whatever the thought was (which Sylvain guessed was imagining someone who wouldn’t cower in front of his daughter long enough to marry her) and met Sylvain’s gaze. “Tonight isn’t about that. I’m sure G—I’m sure your father will come around.”

“Sure,” Sylvain said, feeling wrung tight and thinking a glass of wine sounded pretty nice. He left Felix’s uncle and ended up walking past the refreshments table, letting Ashe know as he passed, that he was going to get some air.

Sylvain only wanted a few moments to breathe in the mild summer-dry air before heading back inside and remembering how happy he was ten minutes ago, but the universe didn’t work that way. He’d gotten about four steps outside of the main area of where they were holding the reception and into the small courtyard nearby and then saw, of all things, his mother.

Her face was pinched and she was still wearing riding clothes, but she was _here_ and Sylvain was striding towards her before he even realized he’d started and throwing his arms around her like he was a kid again. She wasn’t a short woman, but she’d gotten thinner over the past few years so he felt like he had to be more delicate when what he really wanted to do was squeeze until she cracked.

“Hello, Sylvain,” his mother said, sounding faintly amused and returning the hug for at least a few moments before she pulled back.

Words almost formed to say something stupid like ask if the Margrave had come, but Sylvain managed to choke them down and said, “I can’t believe you came. Do you—let me get your coat, there’s plenty of food and everyone’s up and walking around or dancing by now so you can sit wherever you want.”

She pressed a gloved hand to his face, the leather felt worn and familiar. “I can’t come in.”

Lead sunk to the bottom of his stomach. “Ah.”

His mother sighed and dropped her hand. “You’re married now, you’ll have to learn how to take his side.”

“Felix’s side usually isn’t cruel and stupid,” Sylvain said, regretting the ‘usually’. It was hard to be articulate when what he really wanted to do was scream and throw something.

“Your father isn’t either,” his mother chided and shook her head. “He’s… you’re both so _stubborn_ ,” she said, in a peevish way he rarely heard from her. “I know you like to think of things as clearcut, Sylvain, but it isn’t always a straight path down the map.”

“But you came,” Sylvain said, stuck on the point, because the only reason his father _wasn’t_ here was petty, cruel, and incredibly stupid.

She sighed again and then this time cupped his face with both hands. “I’m very happy for you. Felix has always been like family and I think you’ve done well since you’ve been together.”

Weak and stupid for Sylvain to tear up, or at least that was what his father would think and say when his mother recounted this, but it happened anyway. “Can’t you come inside and tell him that?”

She looked at him, sadly, regret filing her features, before the mask of the Margravine came up and she dropped her hands again. “You haven’t been abandoned,” she said. “We’re not…” The mask slipped a little. “This isn’t like…” She put her gloved hands to her temple and shook her head. “Come home again. When you’ve both had time to cool off, please, come home.”

“Come inside,” Sylvain said again, his voice sounded choked and petty.

His mother had wilted over the years. He’d seen it happen day by day when he was younger. Miklan’s departure had made an impact that caused a coolness he’d never been able to thaw. But she hadn’t been the Margrave, and she had _come_ , she was his mother, for fuck’s sake… if he could just get her to stop siding with his stupid…

“I’m sorry,” his mother said. “I can’t.” She turned away from him, tightening her traveling cloak. “And congratulations, dear,” she said, smooth and unemotional, before walking off. Her footsteps were so light, Sylvain barely heard them in the grass. She disappeared around the corner without a sound, leaving Sylvain with a hollow gnawing in his gut like she hadn’t really been there at all.

It must have taken him too long to pull himself together and go back in, because he heard his name and then turned around to see Felix, raising an eyebrow. “How are you the one escaping?”

Sylvain hesitated for a moment, but it was dark enough out not to notice and Felix looked so happy and relaxed he wanted to sink back into that and not ruin it with a dark cloud of… himself.

“Needed some air,” he said. “Had plenty of time with no one begging for _me_ to dance with them.”

“You want Dimitri to step on your feet, be my guest,” Felix said, walking closer towards him. It was easy not to look upset the closer he came, mostly because Sylvain stopped feeling it.

“C’mere,” he said, and took Felix’s hand. He ignored the additional eyebrow raise and just pulled him closer, until Felix was tucked into his side and he could breathe in the smell of the fresh flowers someone had put in his hair.

“I’m still saying no to the alcove,” Felix said, after a moment.

Sylvain laughed. “I see how it is, you’ve trapped me so now you don’t have to put out.”

“Not in public places,” Felix murmured, sliding his hands up Sylvain’s back and then down again in a soothing, repetitive motion.

They didn’t say anything for a while, Felix just kept rubbing his back and Sylvain kept holding onto him. Felix felt like an anchor that kept Sylvain grounded most of the time, but at the moment, he felt like the ground itself.

For once, Sylvain didn’t feel the pressing need to fill the silence, so they only broke apart when Dorothea stuck her head out the door, clearly drawing the short straw on who got to yell at them and reminded them who’s wedding it was.

“Probably should go back in,” Sylvain said, giving Dorothea a thumbs up. She shook her head and disappeared back inside.

Felix looked up at him, there was something unearthly about the color of his eyes under the low lighting of the courtyard and what was visible of the moonlight. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is perfect,” Sylvain said, brushing his thumb over the high point of Felix’s cheekbone. Then he added, “minus you refusing to budge on the alcove.”

“You should’ve written it into the vows,” Felix said, so seriously that it took Sylvain a second before he laughed.

“Damn,” Sylvain said. He slid his hand into Felix’s as they walked back, feeling the cool metal of Felix’s ring against his own finger as they interlaced. “Any chance we could get this annulled and then have a do-over so I can slip that in?”

“Not if you ever want to slip anything else in,” Felix said.

Sylvain was overcome by severe joy and affection (and also slight annoyance that no one would believe him if they told him about this either). “I love you so much right now.”

“I would hope so, considering,” Felix said, but he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was smiling.

Sylvain lifted up their joined hands to his lips and smiled at Felix as he kissed his knuckles. “Turned out pretty good, I think.”

Felix shrugged.

“What, you didn’t like it?” Sylvain managed to keep his voice even, but he felt a little panicked he’d missed something that had gone wrong.

“No, it’s not that, it just…” Felix pushed back a strand of dark hair that had gotten loose, behind his ear. “I don’t care about all the… frippery. I think I’d probably feel the same if we did it in the stables in front of your horse.”

“Don’t insult Amie,” Sylvain said. “She’s the most loyal family I have.”

Felix frowned at him. “I’d like to think I outrank your horse.”

“Oh right,” Sylvain said, as a laugh escaped him, tinged on the edge of manic and happy, as it hit him. “We’re family now. Officially.”

“Officially,” Felix agreed and dragged him back inside to where the rest of Sylvain’s unofficial family was waiting to continue the celebration.

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain spends most of the night trying to convince everyone that Felix told a dick joke, but no one believes him.


End file.
